


Fall

by arcadian_dream



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:42:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadian_dream/pseuds/arcadian_dream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the night before Ginny's wedding to Harry, but all she can think of is the past. She is not, however, the only one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall

  
Icy ocean winds whip Ginny's face; they take up her hair, long and loose, and tug at it, twisting red-gold strands around her face and neck as she clambers through the brush and sand. Hunched forward against the bitter breezes, she stumbles coming over the rise of the low-lying dunes, her foot catching in a gnarled root.

“Fuck,” Ginny spits, but her cursing is lost in the roar of the night's oblivion.

Getting to her feet once more, Ginny resumes her journey and then she sees it - _there_ , the shingled roof of Shell Cottage.

She breathes deeply, for the first time in months and as she walks with renewed vigour, it starts to rain.

*

  
 _Knock-knock_. _Knock-knock._

Fleur stirs, a muted sigh passing from her lungs and past her lips into the cool, early morning air. A dream, it is a dream, the rapping at the cottage door.

 _Knock-knock. Knock-knock._

It is louder now, the knocking but Fleur does not move to rise. Instead, she rolls onto her side, her back to the open bedroom door. Hitching the covers up to her chin, as though to keep out whatever it is that is trying to rouse her from sleep, she stretches her long, slender legs across the expanse of the empty bed.

She sighs, and nuzzles the pillow; the fabric soft, its scent comforting and familiar against her cheek as she dozes.

 _Knock-knock. Knock-knock._

*

  
Clutching at her elbows, trying to hold herself together against the wind and the rain, Ginny thumps again on the front door.

“Fleur!” she calls out into the night, though she knows she will not be heard. The rain falls steadily, slanting against the cottage, cutting into Ginny's bare arms and soaking her shirt and jeans until she stands shivering in the dark.

“Fleur!” she shouts through chattering teeth; _“Fleur!”_

*

  
“ - eur!” the sound permeates Fleur's sleepy consciousness, and she groans.

 _“Fleur!”_

Shutting her eyes tightly, Fleur tries to ward off the impending necessity of having to rise from bed but soon realises it is futile. With a sigh, she pushes back the covers and swings her legs over the edge of the bed, her feet padding quietly against the carpet.

*

  
“Come on,” Ginny hisses through chattering teeth as she thumps the front door of Shell cottage with an open hand; the heel of her palm striking the timber with increasing force until she feels the weight of it give way under her touch and revealing the sight of her - _her_ \- to Ginny's rain-obscured vision.

“Fleur,” she says again; breathless.

*

  
 _“Ginny,”_ Fleur mouths as she opens the door.

“Fleur.”

“What are you -” Fleur begins to ask, but thinks better of it when she sees that state that Ginny is in: dark red strands of wet hair plastered across her pale forehead, tee shirt soaked through and clinging to her lean, angular frame; blue-tinged lips and wide, startled eyes. Desperate.

“Come in,” Fleur says instead, motioning for Ginny to come forward, “come in.”

Nodding, Ginny steps into the cottage. Droplets of rain run over the length of her nose, her chin, her fingertips, and drop to the floor at her feet.

“S-s-s-sorry,” Ginny stammers, rubbing her bare arms for warmth. “I didn't know where else to go.”

“Hush, don't be silly.” Fleur shakes her head, and taking Ginny by the shoulders she guides her to the bathroom.

“Come in,” she repeats, “and we'll get you all warmed up.”

*

  
Sighing, Ginny lowers herself into the bath: hot water prickles against cold skin and she shivers.

She closes her eyes, sinks beneath the waterline, letting the muted sloshing of the water consume her.

*

  
Fleur leans against the bathroom door, examining her nails. A facade of nonchalance; concerted, and aloof, she tries not to care that her husband's sister is naked and raw on the other side of the door.

She tries.

She fails.

*

  
Ginny doesn't know how much time has passed when she emerges from the bathroom, but when she does, she finds Fleur waiting for her in the living room.

“Better?” she asks, handing Ginny a mug of hot tea, which Ginny takes gratefully.

“Much,” Ginny answers, taking a seat.

Fleur nods, but says nothing. She seems to falter momentarily before joining Ginny on the sofa. She leans forward and, placing a hand on Ginny's knee, she whispers: “what are you doing here?”

*

  
It isn't supposed to be like this.

It isn't supposed to be like this _at all_ , Fleur thinks as she sits down beside Ginny.

It was a one-off, what had happened between them; an accident. One glass of champagne too many and a few fumbling caresses; urgent, searching kisses and a pooling heat between her legs that still - _still_ \- warmed Fleur to think of it.

But an accident, an _accident_.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

*

  
 _What are you doing here?_

Fleur's question seems to roll around Ginny's skull, echoing.

 _What are you doing here?_

In truth, she doesn't know.

All Ginny knows at the moment that Fleur asks is that on the night before her wedding to Harry, this is all she can think about: her, _her_ ; the fleeting glance of her fingertips against Ginny's thigh, the salty-sweetness of her sex on Ginny's tongue, and the force of her fist twisting in Ginny's hair.

Fleur.

And Ginny wants to answer: _you, I came here for you_ , but the words stick somewhere in the back of her throat, cradled in her chest behind the fervent beating of her heart.

Instead, Ginny clears her throat, abrupt and awkward, and she grasps for the nearest thing she can and she says, “I don't know if I can do it.”

*

  
Fleur swallows. “Do what?” she asks, though she knows – she _knows_ \- the answer.

“Harry,” Ginny replies, “I don't know if I can marry Harry.”

“Oh.”

Fleur listens as Ginny pauses; she listens to the sound of her breathing in; to the air passing over her lips and tongue; vital.

“That is ...” Fleur starts, and then stops. She isn't sure what it is – at least, she doesn't know what it is that she should say, or what it is that Ginny wants her to say, if anything. Moments pass and the silence deepens. Soon, it is too heavy for Fleur to say anything at all.

Instead, she allows her actions to speak for her: she squeezes Ginny's knee, and inches forward; she allows her eyelids to flutter closed as she inhales the clean, soapy scent of her skin, and she sighs; beatifically.

And in the silence, Fleur can hear Ginny do the same.

*

  
It isn't fair, Ginny thinks; it isn't fair, not at all.

She is close – so close – but Ginny feels like she will never truly be able to reach her.

It is then that Ginny feels it: the heat of Fleur's palm shifting against her skin; the beading of sweat and the rhythmic pulsing of blood as it courses beneath the skin and Ginny can't help it, she can't stop it, and the words spill from her mouth before she can stop them:

 _“You,”_ she says hastily, “you, Fleur, I came here for you.”

As the words fall from Ginny's lips, Fleur catches them with her own; and they fall, together.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hpvalensmut 2011.


End file.
